


November Writing Drables

by rotorhead



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotorhead/pseuds/rotorhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drable a day(ish) for the month of November. Featuring prompts from tumblr. Staring Sixshot, the Terrorcons and First Aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarthKrande](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthKrande/gifts).



> Prompt 1, From Tumblr
> 
> smallfreelancer :  
> queenofthespooky:
> 
> yeah but imagine your OT3+ all trying to cuddle together on a twin size bed in their university dorm.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to submit prompts.

Sixshot wasn’t sure how this happened. Ok, well he knew what had happened, he had been here for it after all, but these things just don’t happen to him.

The large mech let out a huff and Sinnertwin mumbled something in his sleep before pressing closer to his side, wiggling his rump that hung off the side of the berth. The teal and purple monster of destruction and planetary genocide wrapped his arm around the mech so he wouldn't fall. 

Blot. Yeah, the small smelly one. This was all his fault. 

The smallest Terrorcon had been whimpering and most definitely not crying because Decepticons don’t cry. The barracks were full except for Sixshot’s wing. Mechs didn’t want to stay to close to him, with only a few exceptions. 

It had made Blots not crying even more noticeable. 

He had stopped by initially to find out what the noise was, and stayed when he saw the mech wallowing in the covers, attempting to drown himself in rather smelly tears.   
The phase sixer shifted his foot that hung off the end of the standard berth, pausing when he felt Hun-gerr drooling on his leg that the mech hugged tightly to his chest.

It was after closing time for the bars that the other Terrorcons returned. By then the mech had calmed down and was just hiccuping as he clung ever so tightly to his side.  
Perhaps the mech was part space barnacle. It would explain the smell.

Sixshot never learned the names of the mechs or what happened that had bothered the mech currently snoring on his chest. His hand resting on Blots back from when he’d stopped his reassuring strokes and didn’t have anywhere else he could put it.

Rippersnapper and Cutthroat pressed against his side and the much to close wall. Rippersnappers foot twitching and Cutthroat letting out a growl in return that vibrated against his plating.  
Sixshot still couldn’t figure out how exactly they all ended up crammed on to Blots woefully inadequate berth.

Only that it wasn’t that bad. They were rather warm and being used as a pillow by the mechs as they twitched, wiggled, snored, drooled and growled was turning out to be surprisingly pleasant in fact.   
With one last huff, he leaned back and powered down, enjoying the press of someone else against him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk, roughly based on something eabevella posted on tumblr.

“Wait, like never ever?”

Hun-gerr let his glass drift down to sit on the table with a dull thunk as he looked up at his large companion. Sixshot shrugged and finished his drink.

“But, your you! You could grab anyone you wanted and do whatever to them!”

The Terrorcon waved his hands around with his words and had to scramble when the screech of the phase sixers chair sliding back made him knock his beverage over.

With a yelp he grabbed the glass, finishing the contents and swiped his second tongue through the puddle on the table before noticing his companion was gone. With a long look at the mess on the table, then at the form walking out of the bar, he whimpered then gave chase to the teal and purple mech. 

Sixshot strode through the corridors, long legs eating up the distance that had the gestalt leader running to catch up with him.

“Hay, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said, but I didn’t mean it.”

The large kibble on the six changers back twitched, and the mech continued his march without any other indication of having heard him. Stepping into a lift that vacated as soon as he approached Sixshot jammed the button for the barracks level with enough force to break the metal. 

Hun-gerr slipped in to stand next to the mech, shifting on his feet and rubbing his hands together.

“Not having interfaced anyone is OK, it happens.”

Sixshot whirled around, pinning the much smaller mech to the wall with a single hand on his chest.

“I never interfaced because no one wanted me too.”

“Yeah but your you! Mechs should be clamoring to be under you, look at Blackshadow, he’s an afthat and he always has a berth partner!” 

Sixshot leaned down so his optics were level with Hun-gerrs and pressed harder against the purple and silver chest. The sound of metal warping creaked out and the Terrorcon coughed as pressure warnings jumped onto his status feed.

“I’m not Blackshadow.”

The pinned con set his hands over the massive one on his chest.

“I know that… is it because of the six forms thing?” 

The hand on his chest was gone and he had to steady himself against the wall. He could feel the buckles and bulges from the pressure on his armor and a few warnings lingered in his message center but the door pinged open and he pushed off to head after Sixshot.

The lights in the corridor blurred and spun as pressure warning clouded his information streams. All too quickly the floor rushed up to meet him and he put his hands out to catch himself. The left one jammed into something and Hun-gerr cried out at the pop and sting of a dislocated strut. The cry sputtering out to a racking cough as the dented plating above his spark burned with a pinched line.

Venting heavily as his optics cycled in and out of focus he was flipped onto his back and the distorted visage of Sixshot pried the compressed panel loose and straightened the kinked lines.

Slowly his vision cleared and the gestalt leader sat up, cradling his damaged arm.

Sixshot stood not far off, arms across his chest as best as the sensory panels there would allow, watching him.

“I never interfaced because I never wanted to force someone.”

He could feel each cycle of his pump in his damaged arm and couldn't hid the wince when he attempted to move it. Holding it across his chest Hun-gerr attempted to get to his feet. Large hands grabbed at his side and hoisted him up when he wobbled then retreated as soon as the Terrorcon was steady.

“Do you want to interface with me?”

The larger mech jerked back and fixed him with an odd stare.

“Not right now, but later. You won’t have to force me, I want to.”

The phase sixer continued to stare at him in silence before shrugging.

“Sure.”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid goes to the assistance of a mech and gets more then he bargained for.

The small medic hurried after a limping, dull colored neutral as the surprisingly nimble mech weaved through yet another back corridor. Debris filled the area from battles long since fought and the patchwork repairs on the buildings showed even worse here than on the front facades. At least on the front they had tried to hide the shoddy work, not that it worked.

“Please hurry, he won’t last much longer.”

Putting on a bit more speed and jumping through a hole in a wall, First Aid noticed the flickers of light overhead. The solar storm had grounded his transport back to Messatine, forcing the mining vessel to dock at a neutral port. Nothing this close to what was once the front lines remained intact for long and the haphazard, near constant rebuilding led to Mobius 7 being a unscrupulous sort of place that most tried not to visit, if they had much choice in the matter.  
He’d already had to buy a servo from the mech that had cut it off his patient, then a few hours later was presented with several more freshly severed servos since, as the mech explained, business opportunity’s don’t come by to often.

Apparently, neither did medics.

The crew had all clustered in one seedy bar or stayed on the ship, he had seen a leaker in the ally outside and offered his assistance. Once the word got out that there was a medic, a trained Autobot Medic, he’d seen so many leakers, faders and otherwise damaged mechs it was almost like he was on the front lines again.

The grey and brown neutral stopped in front of a low building made out of what looked like grade 6 materials. A bunker at one point, but the roof was gone and huge pock marks littered the surface of the metal. The mech held open the worn flap that covered where the door had been and a turbo rat skittered out and down the alley they had just came.

“He’s in here. Thank you, thank you for coming. Primus bless your spark.”

There was damage to one of the mechs yellow optics and it flickered when he spoke. First Aid made a note to repair it along with the limp when he was done with the fader and ducked under the outstretched arm. The space beyond was cluttered with bits of supplies and a few, old, worn out weapons leaned on the far wall. But there was no mechs, just bits of metal mesh strung out by stakes to give relief during acid rainstorms.

“It’s the least I can do. Where is he? You said he was badly damaged.”

It was nice to get away from Pharma’s belittling of him. Of his status as a nurse instead of a doctor. Of his medbay practices and every little thing about him that bothered the surgeon. 

Truthfully, he did this because the warmth from the spark felt thank yous and the feeling of helping someone that truly needed it, kept him warm on Messatine.

The mech walked hurriedly past him and in the dim light from the one lamp on the left wall, First Aid saw the dings and scratches that covered the mech. His dull color not from choice of paint, but from lack of fuel and dirt. The mech, whose name he never caught, pulled a tattered cloth back from the far wall, revealing a low door.

“He is through here, it’s the only place the turbo rats or scaplets couldn't get to him.”

First aid nodded and ducked in. Looking around and finding only some cloth scraps in the corner and energon stains on the walls. 

“Where’s the mech? You said someone was in dire need of help.”

The sound of the door slamming closed and an electrolock engaging spun him around. 

“Yes, you are in dire need of help.”

A small panel slid aside on the door and a different set of yellow optics looked in at him, as the all to smooth voice continued. 

“Help, that isn't going to come until long after you've been sold off. Autobot medics are worth quite a bit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift from sixshot helps black shadow out. 
> 
> Prompt from Darth Krandy

He had laughed when sixshot had first given the weapon to him. It was worthless and oh so unbecoming a phase six mech. Blackshadow clutched at the remains of his arm, energon seeping into the nameless plants surface below him, anything to get Tarn off his trail was worthwhile.  

Two purple blasts had him rolling to get clear as Tarn's eloquent voice cut through the haze their battle had caused.

"There is no escape Blackshadow. Submit to your punishment and I may not prolong it longer then nessisary." 

His chest heaved and each well spoken word felt like a turn of a vice on his spark. His legs trembled as he fumbled with the award gun in his only remaining hand, fingers slicked with his own vital fluids as he readied his thrusters.  

A part of him wanted to stay and fight on. He was a phase sixer, battle was what he was re - made for. And this, this was the first time in a long time he wasn't sure he was going to win. It made his pump quicken and his trigger finger itch. But he knew when he was beat, that there was no negotiating with Tarn. 

The pylon of stone at his back trembled with the reverberation' s of Vos' rifle fire. He had thought that the ground bound DJD would be hard pressed to catch him. 

It wasn't easy, but having a gun mech that could fire anti aircraft rounds helped and kept him from the relative safety of the sky. Squashing the urge to ping his ship as Kaon would be able to tell, the former decepticon waited until the pylon snapped. Firing his only remaining weapon at the smelter with the rifle. A very un promising pewt noise greeted him as a small canister hurled towards the mechs.  With a grin, Helix shot it out of the air with one of the hand guns held by his smaller arms.

Blackshadow transformed as a green cloud rapidly expanded from the canister and rocketed off, nose pointed towards his ship as smell crept into his vents and seeped through the gaps in his wrecked armor. 

He gagged and rolled, putting every stop purge code he had into effect and focused on punching through the atmosphere where smell couldn't folow.

Yes, when Sixshot had given him a gun that shot pellets of condensed Blot smell, he'd almost thrown it away.  Now... He might just write a thank you note, assuming he could get the smell off him.


End file.
